


She calls him "Sweetheart"

by Blu_dahlia



Series: What's in a name? [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Lydia-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, some strong language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu_dahlia/pseuds/Blu_dahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instances where Lydia calls Stiles "Sweetheart" and what it means.</p><p>Part of a series on names for each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I wasn't able to execute these scenes as well as the ideas in my head but hopefully you still enjoy them. I was trying to explore some of Lydia's characterization. Feedback would be much appreciated! Thank you!

She calls him “Sweetheart”. It isn’t really noteworthy; she calls a lot of people “Sweetheart.” It’s her favorite in her arsenal of ribbon-tied bombs she acidly deploys to reaffirm her superiority.

**Fourth Grade**

She started using it early on, somewhere around the 4th grade. Ahead of her class in everything else, of course she was one of the first to master the complexities of sarcasm.

(Of course it helped that her parents daily conversations had evolved into an instructional video for derision and condescension.)

“ _Sweetheart_ , I thought we agreed not to talk about that in front of Lydia.”

“Well _sweetheart_ , we also agreed to be faithful to each other.”

She had finished her math worksheet before everyone else, the way she usually did. When this happened, her teacher had given her permission to occupy herself with a quiet activity until the rest of the class caught up. She had just settled into _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ when she heard Ellie Winthrop’s stage whisper.

“Lydia is such a show off. She’s too busy showing everyone how smart she is to have any friends. That’s probably why her dad doesn’t live with her anymore.”

Lydia’s breath stopped. She hated stupid Ellie. She wanted to hit her in her stupid face.

(Although, what if she was right? Her parents had sat her down and explained what trial separation meant, what irreconcilable differences were, an how they loved her but just not each other. She had listened, taken it all in, and tried to reason it all out the way she did with everything else. But she still didn’t understand, weren’t they a family? Didn’t that mean forever? If this was supposed to make everything better, why did she feel like she had a stomachache all the time? If Daddy still loved her just as much why didn’t she ever see him? What had gone wrong?)

She wanted to hit Ellie in her stupid face or she wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Really she wanted to do both. But Martins _DO NOT_ make scenes. Her mother had taught her this by the time she was four. So she did what Martins do.

“ _Sweetheart_ , could you say that a little louder? I don’t think the whole class heard your genius comments about me.”

Ellie just stared at Lydia for a moment, before shrieking with laughter. “Oh my god she is SOOO WEIRD.” Lydia's sarcasm went right over the girl’s head, which was a little disappointing. But in a strange way, it also made Lydia feel slightly more victorious. She was not expecting the “Nice one” followed by a chuckle. Her head whipped around to the source.

Stiles’ face turned beet red when her eyes landed on him accusatorily. She glares for a moment, considering the brown-headed boy who had been moved into her class the week before. She’s caught him staring at her more than once. And right now he looks rather intimidated by her. She likes that; it makes her feel powerful. She rearranges her features into a smug little smirk, and lets out a giggle. Stiles lets out a puff of air and relaxes looking relieved, astounded, and slightly nervous, like he can’t believe they’re sharing a private joke. Lydia likes that too.

 

**Tenth Grade**

Three weeks ago, Lydia Martin’s life was exactly how she wanted it (mostly).

Straight A’s – _check_

Stylish wardrobe – _check_

Perfect boyfriend (on paper anyway) – _check_

Perfect best friend - _check_

New car – _check_

Parents who let her do what she wants – _check_

Most popular girl in her class – _check_

Most importantly, Lydia was in control. She knew what to do to keep her carefully procured status quo and she did it with aplomb.

9 days ago, her perfect best friend strong armed her into going to the Winter Formal with a decidedly imperfect date, a week after her perfect boyfriend dumped her. She knows night is doomed. Allison tells her she’s wrong.

8 days ago, Lydia is undeniably right. The formal is a disaster (except for about 30 minutes). She is mauled by a wild animal on the lacrosse field and ends up in the hospital. Allison’s family devolves into some bizarre cross between a Tennessee Williams play and a Greek tragedy.

5 days ago, Lydia apparently decided it would be a good idea to get away for a couple days and wander around the woods. Naked. She doesn’t remember.

3 days ago, Lydia finally got to go home, to her perfect house, and her perfect bedroom. She checks her life inventory:

Straight A’s – she’s missed a week of school

Stylish wardrobe – _check_ (although some of it doesn’t fit but she’s taking it as a positive. She lost 9 lbs.)

Perfect boyfriend – not on paper or off

Perfect best friend – Thank god for Allison

New car – her keys have been taken away. Apparently it is now a concern that she will drive the car off a bridge and not remember it.

Parents who let her do what she wants – her mother is a nervous wreck and even her father can’t ignore the obligation of a basket case daughter.

Most popular girl in her class – Class Nut Job

This morning, Lydia decided it was high time she started getting things back under control. She got up an extra hour early to get ready. She’s got doctor’s notes for her teachers, her tightest day dress (also Jackson’s favorite), and Allison is borrowing her parents car since Lydia can’t drive them. Everything is going according to plan until she walks in the door. Everyone is staring. She knows what they’re thinking. She wants to crawl out of her skin.

_Take control Lydia._

It takes all of thirty seconds for Lydia to get herself together, sauntering off to class with her usual bravado. She doesn’t look back once.

By lunchtime, Lydia is exhausted. All day long she has been a smiling, sweet, perfect girl. Keeping up her usual façade is a lot harder when she has the strong suspicion that no one is actually buying in. And people are always _looking_ at her. She can’t have a second’s rest. It’s making her irritable. Rolling her neck in an attempt to relax and refocus on her geometry proofs she sees someone hovering a few feet behind her out of the corner of her eye.

_Stiles._

He’s been doing it all morning. As if she wouldn’t notice. All day long he has been watching her, tensely. She should feel more awkward. What is she supposed to say to him? They haven’t spoken since she left him to find Jackson at the dance. She heard he waited for her at the hospital. That he was worried about her. He obviously feels awkward. She should too.

But Lydia is bone tired with three more classes to go before she can escape this day and sick to death of not controlling the situation. So she opts for aggravation instead of awkwardness.

“ _Sweetheart_ , did you have something to say to me? If not I’d really appreciate it if you creepily stalk me from further away. Someone might want to sit there who isn’t totally useless.”

It’s mean. She knows it and feels a twinge of regret as she watches him fail to cover his hurt quickly enough. Something about his reaction makes her think that “useless” may have been a low blow. There’s something else in his eyes a flash of, is that pride?

Lydia almost smiles as a warmth spreads through her. Stiles is _proud_ of her for lashing out at him. He's hurt and embarrassed but he's also impressed. She’s back. She’s in control. And he sees it.

He blushes hard and clambers to his feet mumbling something about “…sorry…” and “…just making sure you’re okay…” Lydia arches an eyebrow to let him know he is dismissed. It has the intended effect.

No one will ever know it, but the wry smirk on Stiles' ducked-down face, that she just _knows_ is about her, makes her feel better than she has in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter, this one takes place the day after Stiles finds Lydia crying in her car.

Lydia is in no mood for this today. Not at all. She is no mood to deal with Stiles fucking Stilinski chasing her through the parking lot when all she wants to do is go home, climb in bed, draw the blinds, and try to ignore the fact that she may be losing her goddamn mind. She has successfully avoided him at every turn today and if she can just make it to her car she is home free.

Unfortunately, Stiles-In-Pursuit is about as graceful as Stiles-Doing-Literally-Anything-Else and has set off three different car alarms already, drawing quite a bit of attention to the two of them. Not to mention the yelling.

“Lydia!”

“Lydia please just hear me out!”

“Two minutes!”

“One minute!’

“LYDIAAA!”

Lydia is so over being a spectacle. So she stops, whirling around with quietly controlled wrath radiating from her very being.

“WHAT?!” She hisses at him once he’s close enough to hear her. Stiles stutters to a stop, cartoonlike, and slowly comes a little closer with an equally caricatured amount of caution. _As he should_.

Lately, when Lydia deals with Stiles, she is left with a slightly uncomfortable twinge of discomfort; a vague sense of something resembling shame, guilt, or regret. It’s unnerving and she doesn’t like it. But not today, oh no, not today. Today, her cold shoulder is 100% justified, thank you very much. She did not go looking for him the night before. Stiles approached her, and he was persistent enough to get her guard down. And then, he bailed. He abandoned her.

_“I think you look really beautiful when you cry.”_ Who SAYS shit like that (so sincerely you can’t help but believe them even when it’s against your better judgment) and then just bolts?

Lydia is not putting up with being left anymore; certainly not by Stiles Stilinski of all people. So as far as she is concerned, she is being generous in giving him about five more seconds to explain himself before she hops in her car and peels out of the school parking lot capping off yet another dud of a high school day.

Predictably, Stiles’s chances at redemption are squandered with gaping, wheezing, and stuttering. She thinks there may have been an apology somewhere buried in the rubble but she can’t be bothered to dig it out on her own. She’s turning on her heel when she catches his eyes. They are absolutely _wrecked_. For a split second she feels like she can read everything he is feeling in his eyes, regret, sorrow, pain, anguish, shame and _fear_. It’s incredible that one person’s eyes could be so intensely expressive. It’s all right there and if she just dug a little deeper she might find the answers to why he left, and why she's so scared all the time, and why everyone’s been acting weird, and how they might fix it all…

_Damn it_. That is not what she is doing right now. He fucked up, not her. And Lydia is not going to waste one more second on yet another relationship where she does all the work. Honestly if he really felt that bad he could have at least prepared something to say, some sort of explanation or excuse for leaving her.

“ _Sweetheart_ , I don’t have time for this. Try babbling at someone who actually gives a shit.”

And she’s off. Ice runs down her spine and Stiles looks like the wind has been knocked out of him.

This is not pride, this is not a defense mechanism. This does not have an underlying glint of a private joke. Lydia is drawing a line between them and pushing him firmly to the other side.

Halfway home she catches her own mascara tracks in her rear view mirror. She wonders if anyone else thinks she looks beautiful when she cries.


End file.
